But I Don't Dream in Colour...

[this is taken directly from my journal].

10-12-08 12:35pm.
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I just woke up from another dream which suggests that my dream world doesn't consider Rexville [where my grandparents live in New York, USA] and Bukoto [the village in southern Uganda where I currently reside] to be so far apart. In this one, some aunt and uncle--not sure who and can't remember their names, but I half-recognised them, just as I do every time I go to Lewis family reunions. They were driving from New York to visit Heatwoles in Virginia, and they had room in their mini-van, so they gave Melissa a ride here. How Uganda is on a driving route between Rexville and McGaheysville, or why Melissa was in NY in the first place were not relevant questions until I woke up. As I was talking to this aunt about some mundane topic of American life, who should wander down the hill (our compound isn't actually built on a slope), but Amber. Stan and Diane had stopped, too. I returned to the house to find a large contingent of my Lewis cousins eating matooke and beans side by side with my brothers and sisters. Strange wonders from this scene: Maama was not at all surprised by their presence, had enough food for all these extra people, and was letting guests eat on the floor with our family. When I asked Maama if they knew what they were eating, she said no, but they seemed to be enjoying it. The last thing I remember is me saying, to the great amusement of my Ugandan family, "Tugenda kulya ensenene"* and not translating into English. Oh, the strange wonder of dreams.
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*In English: "We're going to eat grasshoppers."

I've been in a poetic mood lately...

Jangua Tugende Kusoma
(Quickly, We Go to Study)

Morning breaks lightly among the hills.
Dawn rises quickly as I step amongst dew
and dust.
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Too early for the young mechanics,
but I bend my knee and speak loudly
to greet the mad woman
and deaf dry cleaner.
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The night was beautiful, peaceful, restful,
as I slept with those I call
brother, sister, mother.
"Nasuze bulungi"-I slept well,
is all I say.
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A few steps through town--
burning trash,
babies crying,
children buying chapatis
or washing utensils.
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Waves and greetings.
"Bye-ee muzungu."
"Bye-ee," I respond,
"Bye-ee, muganda muwana,"
dear brown child.
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Past the coffee plant,
where young men sweep beans
into the morning sun.
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Smoke rises as tea boils
on rekindled cooking fires.
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Now I wander through gardens
of cassava, beans, and g. nuts.
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A palm tree, tall along the path.
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Banana plants,
simple in their sustenance,
providing food, fibre, water,
whose leaves take a part
in the dance of life and death,
love and loss.
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I watch the sun climb above the farthest green hills,
awestruck by the daily beauty.
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"Good morning Aunt,"
children pull me from my contemplation.
"How are you?"
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They are fine
in their many-coloured uniforms,
barefoot as they carry
paper-wrapped books,
capless pens,
plastic containers packed with
cassava and sweet bananas.
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"Quickly," I tell them,
and "study well today,"
drawing happy laughs
as I speak their tongue.
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Returning again to the road,
remembering childhood folk tales,
I imagine I'm playing a pipe
and wonder how far they would follow me.
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Greetings continue.
Boda drivers racing to their posts.
Cyclists starting the long trek to Town,
green bananas piled high as they trudge uphill.
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We all cover our faces
and dodge to the side
as heavy lorries speed toward Tanzania.
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As we reach the parish hill,
I urge my children onward
and upward.
"Quickly," I remind them,
"lessons are beginning now."
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Father Grandfather is giving mass up the hill,
the youngest children tidy the compound
with brooms and hoes.
Already teachers are in their classrooms,
the cook's toddler twins splash water in a saucepan.
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I pull out chalk and a book.
"You are most welcome,
dear Auntie Chrishtine"
as I cross the threshold from dirt to dirt.
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I smile crosses my face as the 7:00 bell
resounds across the grass.
It is the first hour of the morning,
I am exactly where I belong,
and my day is beginning again.

My New Home...

As I have been compiling medical forms and studying for my online TEFL certification class, my contacts in Uganda have been busy figuring out where I will be living for the next year. Dale and Gann, the MCC reps based in Kampala, recently sent me some information about my host family (apparently, they visited Bukoto last week).

I will be living with the Katongole family ("pronounced kah-ton-gol-eh with the o sounding like the English words 'tone' and 'goal' and the accent on the second syllable"). Mr. Joseph Katongole is a businessman who spends most of the week in Kampala. Mrs. Janet Katongole keeps the house and family in order while he's away. They have 9 children: 3 adults who've finished university, 3 at various secondary (boarding) schools, and 3 still at home. They living in Bukoto trading centre, about a kilometer from Jude Junior School, where I will be teaching. I'll have my own bedroom, toilet, and bathing area (with rainwater)... and electricity whenever the power happens to be on. Gann writes, "We think you will be very comfortable there--Ugandans are very hard to persuade that a visitor should not have the very best!"

Some of my family: Michael, Janet, and Aloyisius.



A picture of my house with Dale, Aloyisius, Michael, Janet, Gann, and Father Peter Paul (the parish priest in Bukoto):


The last few days have been filled with many goodbyes, as friends and family send me forth into the great unknown of East Africa. The sadness of saying goodbye is soothed a bit, however, by the joy and excitement of meeting (through pictures and email descriptions) people I will soon know very well.